


P Is for Poltergeist

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, mild non con BJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26844046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Bored Brakebills poltergeist Eliot Waugh amuses himself with a first-year boy.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Kudos: 24
Collections: Kinktober Horror Erotica Collection by Quentins_Quill





	P Is for Poltergeist

**Author's Note:**

> For Kinktober: The Queliot Edition, Day 5: "Ghostly Embrace."

Eliot Waugh figured there were worse things to be than a poltergeist, especially one that lived in the library of a magical grad school. 

It could be much worse, he knew--some ghosts were doomed to eternal torture (though there was much less chain rattling than one may expect,) and although he was confined to the Brakebills School of Magical Pedagogy library where he died seven years earlier when some foolish first year opened a volatile spellbook and the resulting backfire turned everyone and everything in the vicinity to cinders, his boundaries let him meet (and devil) the cute first-year boys who came in to study their Popper books and wander the stacks. Eliot adored them--they were usually wide-eyed and amazed by the idea of real magic and even though the older students told them about Eliot the poltergeist and how he had died, few believed until they ventured into the library. 

This afternoon found Eliot loitering on the second-floor balcony and puffing on a spectral cigarette. There were other spirits who’d died that day and sometimes haunted the stacks, but they seemed quiet for the moment. 

“Come to the library, Eliot. It wouldn’t kill you to study, Eliot!” He sighed for what seemed like the millionth time as he recalled his friend’s words as she’d badgered him into visiting the library that fateful day seven years ago. “Shows what you know,” he muttered into the cavernous place, then lifted his head as the library doors opened to admit the most nervous-looking first year he’d ever seen. He  _ had _ to be a first year, with the way he gazed up at the library’s tall, curved shelves until he stumbled into a table, tripping over a chair and nearly dropping the leather Sharo bag he carried. The bag had a mismatched canvas strap, as if it has seen a lot of wear yet its owner refused to part with it.  Eliot now watched said owner as he straightened the chair and sat at one of the tables. He was alone but didn’t carry an air of loneliness, as if he was used to being solo and maybe even preferred it. He was dressed in jeans, a simple denim-colored button-down shirt, and a simply awful tie--the kind of striped tie a young man might grab from the local K-Mart until he grew wise enough to know better. His hair, nearly shoulder length, gleamed in a tawny mix of chestnut, russet and copper. Eliot imagined the sun streaked it blond in the summer. 

_ He’s the most awkward-looking creature I’ve ever seen _ , Eliot thought to himself as he moved closer. The idea that he was smitten never crossed his ghostly mind: deviling first years was his hobby, after all. He moved to stand behind the chair where the kid sat and as the kid pulled a book from his bag and bent his head to read, Eliot brushed the back of his neck with one fingertip. 

“Uh!” The kid jerked, the sound not quite a gasp, and slapped the back of his neck. His nose wrinkled a bit, and Eliot knew, like others he’d teased, that he smelled cedarwood cologne and a hint of cigarette smoke. Eliot grinned--he rarely showed himself, as it made these games more fun. Unfettered, Eliot made his way under the table and knelt in front of the kid, creating the sensation of hot breath there. This time the first-year did gasp and tried to pull away from the table, but Eliot held the chair there with his poltergeist energy as his eager, spectral hands undid the kid’s fly. While he could no longer feel pleasure, his chaotic energy still allowed him to give it, and  _ gods _ , he hadn’t wanted to suck someone off this badly in years, not since that backward spell blew his soul from his body, turning the latter to ashes. 

“What . . .” the first-year groaned, his book dropping from his hands and onto the ground. The rear cover bore a label with a magic wand underlining PROPERTY OF QUENTIN COLDWATER in a line of gold. “What’s happening--oh God!” He gasped as Eliot freed the kid’s cock from the fly of his jeans. 

_Buckle up, Quentin Coldwater_ , Eliot thought with a grin. As a magician, his telekinetic powers had been unpredictable but as a poltergeist, he controlled these energies completely. The first year--Quentin--was trapped in the chair and could only squirm, panting, as Eliot lapped at the head of his hardening cock. A moment later, after giving it a few more laps, he took the entire length into his spectral throat. 

“Oh--fuck!” Quentin gasped as the sensation of being swallowed engulfed his cock. “Oh God, what . . . what is this?” His dark eyes widened as he tried to see under the table but spotted nothing but his cock, naked and erect, as if he’d been edging for the past thirty minutes. A warm, invisible pair of lips slid along the stiff length and Quentin’s hands curled into fists. Thoughts of escape or fighting what this was were fading as the intense pleasure shut down the more rational centers of his brain. His stifled a moan and his ass cheeks undulated in the wooden chair. 

“Oh . . . oh . . . “ The rapidity of the motions increased. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna--” 

Quentin’s hips snapped forward and gave two rapid, uneven bucks as he came. He felt the hot flood spurt out of him yet no mess spattered on his clothing or the floor. The scent of cedarwood grew stronger for a moment and Quentin thought he heard soft laughter echo through the room. He sat there, panting in his chair, his cock wet and wilted. When he realized he could move again, he tucked himself away, shoved his book into his bag, and bolted out the library doors. Eliot watched his retreat, grinning, from the second-floor balcony. His best friend and fellow poltergeist, Margo, materialized next to him, shaking her head as she watched the kid flee, still flushed. 

You and your first-year boys,” she said. 

THE END 


End file.
